HiTech, & LowLife
by As-Ivy-Groweth-Green
Summary: AU: The year is 2073, governments have fallen and corporations hold all the power now. Mutant exploitation has reached new heights in the name of scientific understanding and profit. Can the Xmen and Brotherhood fight back? rating may change on content
1. Chapter 1

**Hi-Tech, Lo-Life**

The year is 2073. Mankind over the course of years has developed greatly both scientifically and intellectually. Making amazing leaps and bounds in the fields of Medicine, *Cybertechnology, Biotechnology, Genetics, and Nanotechnology. The quality of life for the average citizen has never been higher, and people have never been living longer. Inversely the protection of personal freedoms has never been worse, and never before has the world been so overpopulated. Governments have fallen across the globe,going bankrupt trying to provide an infrastructure to the masses, and slowly stripped of their power over a century by Corporate lobbying and bribery. In 2031 The North American Government completed a slow collapse. Corporations received Extra-Territoriality, becoming self governing entities capable of owning and policing their own land and sets of laws on that land. Since then Mutant exploitation has reached horrifying levels under the guise of Corporate and scientific research. In order to propagate this abuse, Mutants are considered third class citizens, and refused basic human rights. Forced among the lowclass, the poor, and the criminal.

One ray of hope has been Charles Xavier, philanthropist, PhD, scientist, as well as Founder and CEO of the Xavier Research Institution. A corporation dedicated to the study and comprehension of the X-gene, and espousing the belief of acceptance and integration. A belief widely persecuted by larger more influential corporations who have moved both financially and physically to remove the Institute. Xavier always seems to slip through the traps, and their holdings are protected and policed by the X-men. Xavier's original subjects who he has taken on as security staff. Conversely Eric Lensherr, more commonly known as Magneto founded The Brotherhood of Mutants. A self organization of described radical activists while an appropriate term may be political terrorists; The Brotherhood is focused on fighting back against the Corporations. Assassinating or extracting CEO's, developer's and scientists, as well as attacking corporate laboratories to rescue held mutants, they rail against corporate exploitation, hitting them in profit and personnel and operating in local cells.

In retaliation to these two vastly different organizations, the Corporate noose is tightening. Leaving both Magneto's Brotherhood, and Xavier's Institution struggling for survival and freedom. The situation is a powder keg, waiting to go off. Will you be the one to save Mutant kind or condemn it? Will you stand tall through your struggles, or shall you succumb to them and fall? From the Hi-Tech spire of Corporate Arcology, to the Lo-Life of the streets. This is 2073, and this is your fight.

*Arcology - A self sustaining Mega-structure, the Arcology contains everything a self enclosed populace would need, from shopping centre's to dentists. All provided and owned by the corporation.

So yes, just so you know this is just another OC story. What's the catch? Well it's obviously an AU, and it's obviously Cyberpunk. And Cyberpunk means dark, gritty, street life with plated chrome and surgically implanted mirrorshades. It means Pink Mohawks and black trench coats. It's the super elite, and the street punk. Corp security to gang thug. Brotherhood, X-man, or independent. Whatever you want, I'm looking for 6-8 characters. They Don't have to match, in story they might not even meet. But they all will affect each other. And they'll all be integral to the plot. The more fleshed out a character is with personality and background, the more likely they'll be taken.

Example:

Name: Victor Sarkov

Codename (Optional): N/A

Power: Telepathy, and limited Precognition

Background: Victor Sarkov is slowly going insane, haunted by voices that only he can hear, his parents took him to one of their arcology branch's psychiatrists. Recognized almost immediately when he questioned the boy about what the voices were saying, he immediately prescribed Viktor a medicine designed to inhibit mutagenic expression under the guise of anti psychotics. While they inhibited his telepathy his dreams constantly grew worse. He suffered a recurring nightmare that he and his parents would die in a car crash. When he and his parents had to leave the Arcology, he absolutely refused to go, begging to do the same. Eventually they decided to leave him at home, but when he grew more adamant that they couldn't leave either they slipped him a sedative in a glass of water in order to calm him. When he woke up his parents weren't home and he stayed up all night waiting for them. Around 7 in the morning, they received a message to their home node for the coroner's office, informing him he'd have to come in and ID the bodies and that a corp sec detail was on its way to escort him. Harangued by guilt and horror as his nightmares shifted to something infinitely more horrifying he fled the arcology on foot to avoid the fate he saw.

Personality: Victor is a very troubled person. Haunted by his telepathy which lacks any form of a shield, and cursed by his precognition which shows him only the worst outcome of things he's fully convinced he's not a mutant, and instead insane. Refusing to commit suicide even though he blames himself for his parents death, he's wandering from motel to motel right now. . Though his suppressant pills are running low, and the dream still hasn't changed. Despite all this, he tries to remain strong and to find someone who may be willing to help him.

Age:15

Role:Victim

Affiliation: Independent

Weakness:He thinks hes crazy

Likes: Dreamless nights, his anti-psychotics, quiet, sleeping in

Dislikes:dreams, the voices, himself.

Habits:He's always doing something with his hands. He fiddles

Gear: All the Cred his family had left, a backpack of clothes, and a kitchen knife. (He fled in a panic)

Hair: Dirty blonde, messy and refuses to stay down.

Eyes: Green

Build: Smaller, but by no means skinny, just short

Clothes:Jeans, corpbrand t-shirts, synth-leather jacket, running shoes


	2. Chapter 2

Hi-Tech & Lo-Life

Chapter 1: My Life in The 'Plex

Chicago city. The gleaming and pristine Arcologies of mega-corporations like Omni-Corp, Raotech, Nanodyne, and Virtual Interface in downtown formed an angular and crystal heart to the city. Beating and pumping to the tune of the international stock market; and surrounded by blight. A near eternity of land consumed in tight unending habitation blocks and the tenements of lesser corporations. Districts rife with corruption and poverty long ignored by the likes of Donovan Weston, sinking in pollution and vice. The man had spent a lifetime turned inward to the heart that was the financial district, amassing wealth and power in careful measured steps until he all but ruled the city, and it all but called him king.

Now, he lay resting on the bar, ensconced in a heavy brass urn.

"Oh Father..." Adrien sighed in genuine sorrow, as he stepped past the desk and across the room to look out the windows that served as a barrier to the outer gale, the whole horizon splayed out in the broken landscape of a city swollen and bloated. An entity already dead, but still alive. 'Not unlike the former president.' The young man thought as he glanced back to the urn before returning his attention to the window. 'His influence has not yet died with him.' Adjusting his short black hair and jacket collar with his reflection as well as straightening his designer shirt. "Did the say when they were expecting to adjoin Thomas?" He asked of his aid across the room, not bothering to look at the man.

"Yes sir, the invitation mentioned that they'd be meeting in the grand boardroom on the floor below us." The older man offered, skimming through the medical report. "Apparently they were notified of the emergency by someone close to your father, but we have no idea who. I shall start an informal investigation Mr. Weston? Informational leaks this high up the corporate ladder could be devastating to our integrity as a financial entity."

" I agree Thomas, thank you for taking care of it." 'They will be ended by their own glut of power and wealth. How typically tragic of humanity.' The telepath thought, keeping the notion private behind his barriers. "Would be so kind as to leave me with him? I would like to give him my goodbye." He asked softly before turning around and moving to the penthouse sized offices bar. His aide leaving even as he made the request, quietly shutting the heavy oak double doors to the room and waiting in the secretary's office. Still to be safe Adrien waited a full minute as he poured himself a Speyside malt scotch on the rocks, looking around the tastefully austere space. His father was a fan of deep, rich colours and the walls were a dark red with the floor done in some rare Brazilian wood that had cost a fortune, a deep almost rosy grain gleaming with cleanliness and a fresh coat of wax. The wooden centrepiece of the corporate logo, an Omega Symbol encircling a capital T dominated the woodwork. And for the most part Adrien approved, but he would not be sad to leave it behind. The floor would have to be redone to suit the new logo as well. The bar he was standing at was on the far side, one of only two walls, the other leading to the Secretary's office. The other two walls where made of nano-forged glass. Sound proof and able to resist the gales that associated such great heights as the top floor of the Omni-tech Arcology.

"You know father I feel I'm supposed to feel sad. All but heartbroken over your death, even after seven years after the fact. I should, I know I should! But I just... can't. I suppose I'm failing in my familial duty, but I honestly can't." He held for a pause as he swirled the scotch in it's glass and raised the lip to his nose to enjoy the rich texture before continuing. "All I can manage for you is this overwhelming pity. You were just a human, blind and ignorant to so much around you. You always wanted power father, but I'm the one who has it. I'm the one who was born with it. Mutation isn't what you thought it was. Or rather, it's what you knew it was, but were too afraid to admit." He said as he collapsed into the plush chairs behind the desk that had once belonged to his father and still facing his urn of ashes. Taking a sip of the whisky before continuing. "It **is** the next step. It makes man obsolete, and all your empire is built on compensating for us, trying to keep up." He explained to his patriarch, sweeping his hand toward the panoramic view. "More of us are born every year, and yes father I mean us. So you humans breed like rats, but serve only to propagate our numbers. You are jealous of our strength and abilities, so you develop cyber, bio, and nanotech to compensate for your limitations. You are envious of our mental powers so you create the 'Net, Neurocomputers, AI, and Headware to expand the cramped quarters of your small minds. Everything you have done, is a poor, inefficient copy of mutant capabilities. Your idea of business was focused on the preservation of a doomed species Father. It's time my company looked to the future. So here's to Omni-tech Father, for it falls with you."

He toasted, raising his glass in salute to the cold corpse before him and taking a draught of the scotch. "And here's to it's rebirth as PsyTech, the start of my empire." He toasted again, finishing the scotch with a gulp and pounding the glass on the desk firmly as he stood up. "It's all ready you know. There's a boardroom full of your corporate sharks just waiting for me to show up and tell them how unprepared for this I am. Laughable as the idea is. I'm truly sorry that the legacy you always wanted will be a footnote to my introduction father. But I can't stay to lay it all out for you, I have a city and company to inherit. Business partners to manipulate and detractors to blackmail." He apologized, somewhat dis-ingenuously as he moved to the door but stopped before leaving, turning back one last time to look upon the ashes of the man that had raised him, and set him up for greatness. Thus earning Adrien's gratitude if not respect.

"But let me assure you, it is something grander than you could have dreamed."He offered to the dead man in some small measure assurance for the deceased before opening the door and leaving the office and top floor all together, his aide immediately falling in measured stride not three steps behind him.

"Thomas, if you would be so kind as to draw up a draft of those contracts we discussed earlier. I think it's time for a change of scenery. Maybe New York?"

...

The 'Plex. It was a bustling, lively, colourful collision of countless cultures and identities. The streets where crowded with individuals of every creed, and belief, ethnicity and nation. Each talking, breathing and living. A world of colour and character inside a larger world of oppression and conformity. The inhabitants had taken their drab soulless hab blocks and given them life and colour. From the 'neon dawn' of the seedier districts, to the AR displays in the buffer 'burbs. A vanishing ring of the middle class separating Ultra-rich tightwad downtown from the fast and loose freedom of the slums. It was something Oren always loved when he finally got out from the Tunnelz. The vibrancy and thrum that only a mega-metropolis could create. The people moving through the streets and warrens of this venerable city like the lifeblood they were. Even late at night like now, there was always something going on. Seedier aspects took charge, though they never left during the day. The peddlers and prostitutes got bolder, the gamblers and drunks slinked out, and all through the 'plex you could practically taste debauchery and blood. Brothels and bars opened, clubs and concerts played, and all the while the people never stopped. It always was such a blessed and treasured relief from the stultifying life he led under Raotech, and the grating caution of the Morlockz. Well, most of them anyway. Him and some of his closer friends took great pride in bucking that trend.

Tonight it was just the four of them, slipping through artificial lights they had rigged through the Tunnelz and shadows flittingly. Eager to reach their destination and sow a little mischief downtown. Oren led the way, knowing the paths the best, his neon green sneakers silent against the asphalt and his duffel bag of spray paint strung carelessly across his shoulder and chest. His three friends were dressed slightly more conspicuously than he was in his blue shorts and black t-shirt. The details still easily visible to his augmented vision. The biomechanic iris of his Cy-Eye encompassing the majority of his surroundings in it's gaze.

Fenrir was loping easily just behind him. His bestial, canine features hidden under his dark hoodie as he ran with them, the muscle of the group. Across from Fenrir there was Echo, a thin and spindly girl gifted with empathy. She was only here to share in the mutual feelings of danger, mischief and excitement, and out of all of them, she probably found the Tunnelz most constricting. Bringing up the rear was Mason, Echo's older brother, more muscle and all around biokinetic brawler. He was out here in the hopes of finding a good fistfight somewhere along the way and to appease him, the three of them had promised to pay a visit to Twist to celebrate should everything go alright.

Right now though, they were ghosting along the branches off the Tunnelz, into the even more rarely used access pathways, following along the obsolete spiderweb of optical fibre's until they reached the nearby ladder. Raising a hand Oren motioned for the others to stop. "We're here. Sit tight and play nice while I hop up and check 'er out. Coast is clear we have fun, if the cat's home we fuck off like good little mice, corpsec's not known for their sense of humour. Register?"

"Natch" Fenrir grinned back wolfishly, pulling out a coffin nail while Echo edged around, picking up Oren's twinge of unease.

"Watch your back 'Ren, kay?" She muttered, Mason grunted in non-committed agreement.

Oren just grinned back and waved away their concern, already up a few rungs of the ancient steel ladder bolted into the wall.

"*Null sheen, now quit worrying and get your spray ready. This won't take more than a moment." He comforted strictly for the benefit of Echo. He knew Fenrir and Mason would have no issue with ruffling corporate feathers. Or Fenrir with spilling some corporate blood, he didn't know if Mason had killed anyone yet, and he knew Echo hated the thought of violence. 'I guess that's an Empath for you.'

He chuckled lightly under his breath as he climbed up into the grate and opened the access way for the exhaust systems of the Nanodyne Arcologies HVAC unit. Immediately on entering the actual shaft he began to sweat even in his simple black tank top, and blue shorts, the systems heavy with heat and moisture drawn from the superstructure they were breaking into. Shimmying deeper into the muggy duct. He had found this entrance once while exploring a while back and had found himself nearly complete access to the public sectors of the RaiCorp Arcology. Today he was aiming to slip the group into the mall district. A few city blocks worth of shopping malls, boulevards, arcades and restaurants. The duct he was currently infiltrating should lead him to a small and secluded intake grate. And after a few more minutes of climbing and navigating and he was there, Peering through the ventilation grate to see the equivalent of a back alley entrance to a Chinese buffet. He could tell from the smell of the dumpster beside the door. Even in the self sufficient Arcologies they liked to keep their trash problems out of view. 'Kinda futile a gesture.' Oren figured. "Now to grab the rest and mess with a few corporate heads." He chuckled, sliding back down the ladder.

"He's taking a little long don't you think Mason?" Echo asked, unable to suppress a twinge of worry she knew was her own. Her brother and Fenrir knew Oren could handle himself, and she knew it as well. She just couldn't ignore that little voice in the back of her head. As expected Mason gave only a half grunt in reply.

"Ah, just chill E, Tha' man won't be long he said." Fenrir offered from where he leaned against the hallway wall. The smoke from his cigarette idly drifting further down with the air currents as he took a puff. The cherry glowing merrily in the dim light.

"I know that Fen, I just can't help but feel like some thing's going to go wrong..." The young, diminutive empath mumbled, not loud enough for her brother to hear, but not quiet enough for the keen hearing of Fenrir.

"Yeah, and that's what me and this bruiser are here for." He grinned as he sauntered over, giving Mason a firm slug in the shoulder. Eliciting a grudging nod and smile from the silent Biokinetic. "Just stick with us and ain't nothing gonna touch you. 'Sides, I can hear him on his way back now."

True to form Oren slid out of the ventilation shaft back into the access pass-way, covered in a light sheen of sweat. "We ready to play boss man?" Fenrir asked, canine teeth displayed in a wolfish grin. Oren's reply was to grin back and toss his fellow mutant a spray can of black paint. "Bit of a climb, but well worth it. We all good to go?" He asked, hauling up his backpack full of spray paint. Fenrir caught the can and gave Oren a mock salute before heading into the HVAC shaft, Mason wordlessly following behind his bestial companion. Echo took a moment longer, flashing Oren a fragile and apprehensive smile, but a smile non the less.

They huddled behind the Chinese place's garbage as Oren opened up the backpack and distributed the paint. The makeshift leader of the ragtag little band handing out instructions with the aerosol cans. "Alright, Everyone know's the drill. Teams of two, stick together, tag what you can but be safe. We don't need Corpsec on us, and if they do catch on, run don't fight. You all got your comms?" He asked, waiting for affirmative nods from all of them before continuing. "Okay then, open channels at all times. They break into our lines were fucked anyway, but we should be safe. These areas usually have the lightest security. Fen, you're with me. Mason, goes without saying that you watch out for your sister." He ordered, getting an affronted look from the recalcitrant biokinetic. Having taken care of all that, they switched their comms to narrow band, set the frequency and parted ways. Echo giving him a more genuine smile as she immersed herself in the emotional high the others were slowly slipping into as she patted her brother Mason on a massive arm. "C'mon Mason, let's go paint the town red." She grinned, wagging her can of spray paint.

...

So I'd just like to apologize for the lengthy wait for a short chapter. This is just an introduction to two of the OC's and to get a feel for the setting. Expect a lot more grit to come, and more OC's to follow. I kinda like the limited viewpoints, going from one set of perspectives to the next, so I think I'll continue with it. Also, while I haven't selected all the OC's you can expect to see a lot of the ones I didn't pick filling out various and some times integral roles in the story. You can also expect a lot of secondary characters no one handed in just to pad out the cast. Don't worry though, everyone get's their share of the spotlight.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi-Tech, Lo-Life

Chapter: 1.2

Fucking the System, and My Night.

She sits locked in her room. Surrounded by the gilded opulence of the Presidential Suite of the InfinitiCorp Arcology, and done up in heavy make up that made her look like the doll she sometimes felt like. The feeling was only accentuated by the classic and conservative dress she wore. Frilly and a dark, rich purple, Rosalie hated the blighted thing. Looking to the antique grandfather's clock beside her vanity, the young woman noted that it was finally past Eleven o'clock at night. Her father would be retiring to his own room now. Reaching up to her long golden hair, she deftly undid the snow white ribbon her father had insisted the servants include in her attire for the small business affair that had ended so shortly ago. Placing it in the drawer of her vanity's mahogany desk, it was quickly joined by her evening gloves. Slipping from her stiletto heels as well, she stood and arched back, stretching out her arms over her head as she sank her feet into the lush cream coloured carpet of her bedroom. Padding over to her four poster bed, she quickly slid out of her dress and left it over the down filled covers before slipping over to the entrance of her closet. Carelessly throwing the doors open, the diminutive girl entered into a closet the size of a small room. The hangers practically bursting with high end designer clothing. Much of it she would only ever wear once. Instead of going to one of these hangers however Rose headed to the back, shoving aside evening gown to clear the dark wooden bench beneath. Prying to cover open to reveal the hollowed insides, the young woman pulled out a Gieger of Austria bag, opening it to remove a pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt and a sweater to go over it. The street ware effectively contraband to a woman in her social status. None the less, Rosalie King, daughter to Damian King, one of the most influential men alive quickly changed into what any of her peers at Hera Academy would call rags. She was never more comfortable, then when she was dressed as an 'urchin'. Tying on her favourite boots, and grabbing her hoverboard from under her bed she went out to her massive windows and opened them before stepping out onto the sill that circled the penthouse. Now, Rosalie King had stepped out of her gilded prison, a songbird with clipped wings ready to try it's first flight from the highest branches of her corporate tree. It was time to fly or die. Resting her board on the sill so that it balanced, she slid her booted feet into the bindings, relishing the hammering of her heart and the flood of adrenaline coursing through her veins like a drug. Her empathy left her empty, distrusting of everything she felt, but this; this staccato rhythm of her heart, the racing of her blood. This was real. Taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes, she leaned forward to slowly tip her board nose first. It teetered precariously for a few moments before Rosalie King was left behind on the sill, too cultured and refined for something so daring. In her stead, Briar Chant took the plunge.

The steel and glass spire of the InfinitiCorp Arcology sped alongside her, wind whipping along her face and wailing in her ears like a banshee as Briar forced her eyes open. Tears springing from them as she watched with dispassionate interest while the ground rushed up to meet her. The thrum of her boards intakes whining to a high keen and a scant few seconds before she would impact she tilted the nose up and turned her screaming fast descent into a coast. Sizzling over the streets like a comet, Brair danced through the urban jungle, banking hard around the Arcologies of other companies until she was nearly parallel to the ground now hundreds of yards below her. The Arcologies surrounded her like individual towers of Babel, reaching greedily into the heavens bedecked with a thousand individual stars. Each one fencing in thousand upon thousands of souls. All sold into slavery to their corporate parents. All trapped in the same glorified cage as Rosalie King. This far above the laconically sprawling city below the emotions that reached her were muted, and insignificant, unable to breach the barriers she had erected and she revelled in the freedom to feel as she truly felt. Untainted by the mental effluence of the teeming masses below her. Instead intoxicated on the feeling of freedom that came with the wind whistling past her, the adrenaline rush from soaring over the megaplex beneath her, spread out in all it's indolent and infirm glory. The lights of the urban sprawl laid out before her like a forest of stars as she sailed over it. At first she merely coasted through downtown idly until the sheer rush of adrenaline and freedom slowly wore off. Unwilling to let one of her treasured nights of freedom end so soon, she turned northwest, shooting off to the slums.

The club was as ugly and disused on the outside of the rest of the ghetto around it. The only hint of what it offered came in the form of a gaudy neon sign in the form of a Double Helix, an AR display above that proclaiming that the ancient warehouse was nothing less than the infamous Twist. The building itself had been gutted by a fire nearly a century ago and had remained abandoned ever since except by gangers and street rats. Recently however some enterprising mutie gang had taken over, cleaned the place up and spent a fortune of ill gotten drug and protection creds to make the interior somewhat presentable. Now it was run as a somewhat reputable business venture, neutral ground for all the street scum, a place where anything could be purchased. From a RaoTech narcochip or the roughest shot of rotgut this side of the coast to black market flesh. Everything went and everyone was welcome. Provided of course you had a little extra something in your genes. At least so said the motto. It was a busy night out on the streets, and after dropping down behind the re-purposed warehouse as silently as she could on the jet propelled hoverboard and stowing in behind an overflowing dumpster Briar made her way to the front of the line, bypassing the throngs of lowclass mutants waiting to get in. The thickly muscled bruiser made to stop her by holding out his hand. Briar simply and politely shook it, slipping a credstick into it as he brushed by him. She wasn't going to spend one of her few nights out from under the corporate thumb waiting in line to get in. The door opened for her, and the low rumble that had the building shaking on the outside became a cacophonous roar as Briar stepped into an underground world dark with black lights, clouded smoke and a bass beat so low and heavy that it set her teeth to rattling in her gums. Slowly, carefully, Briar lowered the mental shields dulling her empathic capabilities. Drinking in the abandon, and debauched intoxication that ran rampant through the club like plague. Everything was a muted dark composed of the twisted and writhing shilhouette's on the dance floor, oddly highlighted by a makeshift laser show. An array of multicoloured lights illuminating a shoulder or length of hair here, or glinting chrome of a cyberlimb there. She could feel the exuberance of the dancers as they flailed to some new Synthtronic beat fresh of the dataline and let it wash over her as she made her way to the bar.

The club was packed, and the bar was no exception as Briar elbowed herself enough room to catch the tenders attention. He was a short stocky individual, and he seemed to glow in the dark all his own. Briar had to hold back a derisive snort when she say the logo on his t-shirt. "Unzip your gene's" Absolutely ancient.

"What'll you have sweet heart?"

"Beer, and I think you've got me confused with someone else asshole." She scoffed, slapping a 5 cred down on the bar as he slid her a bottle and barked with laughter. She took her drink and turned her back on him, effectively shutting him out. Taking a draught, the empath had to suppress a grimace. Soybeer, disgusting swill. Still she drank it, it was after all part of her alias. While Rosalie King would turn her nose up at the establishment let alone the drinks, Briar Chant had no such compulsions. Forcing back a derogatory sneer, she slammed back the rest of her cheap beer and turned back to the bartender.

"What d'ya have that's harder?" She asked, practically ladening her words with street in a way that would have her instructors back at Hera Academy reaching for the cane.

The ugly bartender just shook his head and pulled out a bottle full of clear liquid and slammed it on the countertop. "Just Synthahol, and I'll warn you now missy. This isn't something dainty little things like you aught to be sampling."

Briar just smiled and slid another fiver his way. "Natch."

In hindsight maybe she should have listened to the bartender because while she certainly wasn't drunk of the single shot and the beer Briar certainly didn't feel well. The shot had tasted like fire, and it had burned accordingly all the way down where it had sat and settled in her stomach. It didn't sit well as she swayed roughly in the middle of the dance floor, sweating lightly under the sweltering heat of the bodies surrounding her. The area thick with the scent of sweat, cheap drugs, and cheaper booze, all clashing with the empathic high she got from the loose cut crowd. Still she soldiered through it, unwilling to call it a night just yet and return to her gilded cage. It was getting relatively late, and the crowd was slowly starting to thin out when she felt a presence dancing not so much from behind her as toward her. Turning to face the individual invading what little personal space she maintained, Briar was pleasantly surprised to see a handsome looking young man coming up to her. Flashing her a winning grin, he gave a low bow so that his dirty blond hair hung over his eyes and offered his hand.

"S'cuse me fer being so bold, but I was hoping that I might have this dance." He asked, before standing up. Briar took a moment to look him over, noting the well worn but clean jeans, with the chain wrapped around as a belt, the tight black wifebeater tanktop, and leather jacket. Most importantly the patch over the left breast in the form a leering skull with a rusted crown gracing it. A ganger. Still, he seemed earnest enough when she opened herself empathically to him, so she just smiled and nodded her head.

"I don't see why not, but most gentlemen offer their names first." She replied coyly as she took his hand, willing to play this little game if only for tonight. It's wasn't like it'd mean anything to either of them.

"Where are my manners, the names Tommy. But most just call me Twitch." He smiled, stepping in closer as the DJ put on something a little faster and harder. "I haven't seen you around here, you new?"

Briar just smiled and slid and arm against his side as they started dancing to the electronic beat. Could he be any more stereotypical with his pick up lines. Still she let herself move against him as she recognized the song as 'Event Horizon', both of them having to shout to be heard.

"Briar, and no, I'm not fresh off the streets. Just hard to find a free night to cut loose." She shouted, her head next to his to be heard, idly watching how the speakers convulsed with beat. Bodies on the dance floor emulating the nearly chaotic rhythm. "And Twitch?"

"Let me show you." He chuckled and stepped back, and that's when he really started to move. Even among mutants Briar had to be impressed at his fluidity. Each movement seemed to be jerking and incredibly fast, like he was under the effects of a strobe light. The effects of his mutagenic expression she thought to herself, speed. Still smiling to her Tommy seamlessly slid back in closer and picked right up where they left off dancing. "And you?" He asked curiously, and Briar almost wasn't going to tell him, so used to hiding it. But she forcibly reminded herself where she was, and the company she was keeping. It'd be nice to be upfront for once, if only because she could.

"Empathy." She offered, and Tommy nodded in understanding deeper than she would have thought when he flinched. "That's rough... My sister was an Empath... couldn't handle it. You've got to be pretty strong." He offered, forcing back the trace of sorrow she could feel with another smile.

"I've learned to adapt." She shouted, the last words louder than necessary as the song ended.

"I bet." Twitch chuckled, taking a step back before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "So Briar, it's getting kinda dead in here. Wanna head some where else?" She didn't even need her empathic abilities to feel the hopefulness and attraction radiating off of him like steam from an overheated engine. Truth be told it annoyed her to no end. They were having a good time and he just had to ruin it.

"Sorry Tommy, your nice and all, but it's getting late." Briar deflected, ignoring the stab of disappointment that slipped through her walls. "Hey, null sheen. You need me to walk you back? Not many people are willing to mess with a King."He offered, pointing to his jacket.

"Nah that's okay. I got a ride." A genuine knight in shining armor this one, she thought derisively.

"Oh... Alright then, see ya around Briar..."

She quickly slid away, working to loose him in the remainder of the crowd, but the empathic high she was feeling just a while ago had turned sour and poisonous, beating down against her walls roughly, making her stomach feel worse with the gut rot. The sooner she got her board started up and out of here, the better.

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Alright, I've had it pointed out to me that a lot of people want to know what OC's were taken, so here's the list. Also if you haven't noticed I've already been padding out our cast, so even if you're OC's not in the story, there's a chance they'll still have an important spot in the plot. OC's are as follow

Adrien Weston

Oren Meir

Lyra Kingston

Maura Drax

Kai Scarborough

Rosalie King

Maris O'Connor

And Blaine Hamilton

Thanks to everyone who submitted and who keeps reading. Sorry for the state of this chapter, for some reason it just refused to b e hammered out the way I saw it.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi-Tech, Lo-Life

Chapter: 3

Firewalls and ICE-breakers

He sat alone on the floor in the dark of his room, the only illumination provided by the screen of his laptop. The monitor more akin to a window into an electronic world more real than his own. He was staring at the source, the wellspring, the modern day font of knowledge where Odin had cast his own eye in return for knowledge of the past and the present. Thankfully his sacrifice required no such bodily disfigurement. No, for him, that little screen scrolling with bits of data was his reality. He knew it's pathways and routes better than he knew his neighbourhood streets. He knew the areas open to the public, and the secret pathways built strictly for the corps, places one avoided at all costs if they expected to die a ripe old age. Blaine Hamilton did not expect to die of old age.

Instead there he was, surfing the electron horizon. Programs paring through binary data like a fish through water. Normally he'd take his time maybe browse around and get media fix, but right now he was on the job and looking at the entry page for Nanodyne Enterprises and it was already buzzing his system for access codes. No one was as paranoid about digital security like a Corp. He shut down the GUI and went straight for the DOS-box. The method was ancient, but Blaine had spent all of last summer tweaking his machine to run off text commands. Again, it was an ancient method of computing, but so god damn obsolete the Corps didn't even bother trying to cover from hackers using it. It took a few more seconds, but the buzz dropped off immediately and his system was shunted over to the equivalent of a main foyer on the web space. This is where things got interesting. With the practised ease of a long time hacker, Blaine slipped through the firewalls protecting the 'secretary' and ran a data search, looking for the net address of the Chairman of the Treasuries budget. Security Red-5, node 4451. He could handle that without even jacking in. Fingers flying over the keyboard to spell out his own little brand of techno-arcana Blaine sat back as he watched the screen shift, reaching beside him to grab a few animal crackers. Making sure to bite the heads off sadistically he ran his sleaze program for the next access verification query and slid past another firewall slick as Teflon. Uploading his librarian, he had it search for the budget while he kept an eye on the background code to look for any sec chatter. He was in the clear so far, and the longer it stayed that way, the better his chances of getting out of this without his brain dripping from his ears like molten wax. He liked his grey matter just the way it was thank you kindly. When his librarian came back with the file, he downed it faster than shots at that frat party he went to last week and ran a few permutations to scramble any electric trail he may have left behind before ditching the node. "Now then... Let's see what we can see."

The file itself was encrypted fairly heavily and it would take a while to crack. Not that he was in any rush, the easy part was done in getting the file. All he had to do now was trace the blacklisted funds, break into a VR node, slip or break his way through the ICE and get the prize for the Brotherhood in return for a hefty sum of Cred. Opening the safecracker program, Blaine left it to chip away at the encryption while he got something more substantial than animal crackers to eat. Setting his laptop to the side he got up on creaking knees and arched backwards, cracking his back loudly with a groan. Sliding his AR goggles from his head and running a hand through his unruly and wild brown hair, Blaine found his eyes squinting against the darkness of his shop. His gaze returned by the cracked lenses and optics of drone parts, cybernetic implants, and gun scopes. Each piece of equipment precariously pilled on top of each other amid towering stacks of books, many technical and scientific. Though eclectic, the vast assortment boasted little dust, subtly bellying it's well used nature.

Not bothering to turn on the lights Blaine made his way to kitchen too open the all to empty fridge and grab a soy beer and leftover chinese. Popping the top of the carton, he grabbed the synthetic chopsticks, and slid it into the ancient microwave he had scrounged and fixed up. It still looked beaten up and disabused, but at least now it worked. He leaned against the dingy counter top, flicking through AR feeds displayed and drawing a cigarette from a pack in his back pocket. It was bent and squished, but the hacker barely paid it any mind as he lit it and took in the cathartic nicotine. Slowly letting it out through his nostrils to let it drift and halo about him in the gloom. By the time he had grabbed his leftover take out, beer and cigarette and returned to his laptop, the safecracker was almost finished with the encryption. Considering he was in no rush, Blaine sat back and kicked his feet up onto the table as he ate. He was just finishing off his beer when his I/O node alerted him to an incoming call. Sighing, Blaine plunked the cigarette butt into the bottle and sat up straighter.

"Accept the call." He groused, running a hand through his unruly brown hair and straightening his red tie before the tridscreen came to life displaying a very irate Eric Lensher. Never a good sign.

"Eric, how good to see you again." He lied, forcing a nonchalant smile to his face even as he internally groaned. He did not want to deal with his current employer right now.

"This had better be a secured line if we're going to use names Hamilton." The older mutant replied, his voice haughty and cold as he leaned back into an office chair. Blaine just snorted and shrugged dismissively. With Magneto you had to play along, match the man's arrogance with dismissal or he'd never give you space to work.

"And just who do you think you're talking to? If I can splice my way through corporate webspace you think I'd have trouble securing a fucking comm line? Give me some credit here Mag, you came to me after all." He grinned, even as he felt his stomach twist and lurch. He was playing things close to his chest and he knew it.

"That's right Hamilton, I did. I came to you with payment for a service, a service I have not yet received. And you well know that I am not a man known for my patience in these matters. When do I get my data?"

"Chill out boss, I got your paydata right here. Decryption takes time you know." Blaine grinned, watching as the safecracker's progress bar hit 100% before he brought the file onto the vidscreen. Displaying it both for himself and for Magneto. Scrolling down through the mass of bureaucratic budgeting before he started to hit the blacklisted projects, the hacker highlighting them for his employer. "See, Nanodyne is pouring a tonne of cred into these blackbook projects. They're working on something big, and if we just correlate the expenditures to some of the products they've been ordering we can get a fairly decent idea of what their up to. Job done."

He sat back and stretched out once again as Eric perused the files, once again kicking his feet up onto the desk as he waited. Internally sighing as he watched the older mutants face scrunch in disappointed frustration. Looks like he wasn't off the hook yet.

"I didn't pay you for idea's or vague guesses Hamilton, I paid you for hard, concrete data. This is just aimless supposition. Until you get me something incontrovertible, you're not getting another cred." Eric looked angry, and when the founder of The Brotherhood was put off, you didn't want your neck on the chopping block. Blaine knew enough about the man to know he wasn't just fucking around.

"Look, Eric. I know what you want, but that stuffs buried so deep under corporate ICE* that even I'm not willing to go spelunking for it. It's just not worth the risk of getting fried. That's black for a reason, the node technically doesn't exist, and likely the node's unregistered. So even if I do make it there,there's no guarantee they won't just blow the system. It's common practise to keep this sort of thing on physical back ups."

"I don't care. I don't care how you do it, or how much it's gonna cost me. But you will get me that data Blaine, or you won't have to worry about getting fried by corpsec. The Brotherhood will be paying you a visit. Do we have an understanding?"

Yep... He was fucked. "Yeah yeah... I'll get on it. Oh by the way, if this goes to shit. You're paying for the fucking funeral." Blaine growled as he shut the call down. "Ya fucking asshole."

Still, the hacker slumped in his chair and turned to face his laptop, looking back into that window to his digital reality. Reaching over to his computer, he pulled out a fiber-optic band ending with a plug and drew it out with a sigh. "This is the shit I get for working with terrorists." He bemoaned as he slid the plug into the datajack in his left temple, giving himself up to the powerful neural computer lodged in his grey matter. He made himself as comfortable as he could while the physical world slowly bled out of his senses to be replaced with electronic data translated into physical sensation by the computer nestled in his brain.

Soon enough, the technopaths eyes closed, the darkness of his room replaced with a static burst of colour and fractal images that hung three dimensionally against his eyelids. The electron horizon extending into infinity on a grid work of connections and data-lines. Each node represented as a physical object, the common, poorly secured geometric shapes of everyday use propagated amongst the towering forms of Corporate networks. The entire world wide web stretched out before him, though his interest was held solely by the five revolving and interconnected orbs of the Nanodyne logo in the distance. With a wave of his digitally represented hand he was transported to just outside the node. His access barred by the impossibly high barrier of coding that was the firewall.

Blaine held there for a few precious microseconds, letting the visual data filter into his mutated cortex, mentally running permutations and calculations until he was mentally un-weaving the coded tapestry, unravelling the fine line of data until he reached out and inserted a string of nonsensical data into the firewall. Tearing a seam through the perimeter just large enough to for him to slip through, the rest of Net closing off behind him like a portcullis slamming into place. He was in. Before he knew it the towering orbs representing the Nanodyne corporate node cascaded around him in pixelated bites and bytes, coalescing around him into a aesthetically bare, white reception hall that seemed to stretch off into forever as a hall of countless doors, and more than a few digital avatars not unlike his own busying about. Worker bee's to Nanodyne's hive.

The highest quality node's took realistic programming to new levels, sort of like a sign of social status. And as he walked along the tiled floor of the node, and heard the echoing footsteps around him, Blaine was unsurprised to find that a member of the corporate council went so far. Ignoring the A.I. Receptionist at the gilded marble desk before him, Blaine advanced along the hallway and subtly rerouted a trace initiated against his unknown IP address. Opening his tool bar in his peripheral vision, the hacker also ran a quick analyze, looking for the connecting portal to the node he was looking for. It'd be unregistered, but sometimes it was easier to find what didn't belong.

In the end it took a precious few seconds, wasting away the edge that his sleaze program afforded him. It could only hide his signature for so long. Accessing the portal link, Blaine sighed in the real world as once again the node fell away around him before convalescing as a massive library. The plaque over the doorway listing this as R&D. The bright flare of pain stabbing him between the lobes of his brain let him know that he'd tripped the ICE*. True to form as he rolled forward and turned around, there was a librarian running a combat program. The thin black stiletto in it's hand promising to burn out his cerebral cortex with biofeedback.

Thankfully Blaine had his own combat mods installed on his system, and pulled them up along with a browse program. The browse wisp shot off from his avatar rather shakily, a sign that the ICE was degrading his systems as well. But he only had to last long enough to find and download the paydata before jacking out.

Tossing himself to the side as the librarian went in with a jab, Hamilton drew his own little bit of techno-arcana in the form of a baseball bat, nails protruding from the digitalized wood.

"Security breach in R&D section 9" The librarian monotoned, setting off the node's alarm, immediately slowing the connection Blaine held. Spiking him with lag as he rushed the Librarian and took a swing for it. Degraded or not, the digital entity could not hold up against his programming and the librarian disintegrated into bits of binary even as he could see more swarming him. He took off running, the hacker realizing that with the security measures enabled, he only had so long before the corporate security hackers showed up. And Hamilton did not want to see what Corporate resources could do against his home built programs. The only good news was that the Browse software had begun the download. All he had to do was make sure he survived long enough to finish it.

So... I just wanted to apologize to everyone about the extensive delay in chapters and to assure you all that I am not dead. My computer was however. And because it was under warranty the shop decided to take as long as possible to remedy that. However the long the wait, it has been returned to me as wholesome as Lazarus returning from the tomb. So expect to see more of your favourite Lo-Life's and their Corporate counterparts. Cause' this is where the action starts to pick up.

ICE: Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics.


End file.
